


Handy Helpers

by the-captains-ayebrows (EscapistFiction317704)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Sorry Not Sorry, There are a LOT of bad puns in this, With a side order of Snowing, and a little Captain Charming BroTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 08:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12317448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EscapistFiction317704/pseuds/the-captains-ayebrows
Summary: Emma Swan's building has gone co-op and now she's forced to fix up her apartment on a tiny budget, but with the Handy Helpers, she may just get more than she bargained for.Otherwise known as: Captain Charming as handymen. A CS Modern AU with a side of Snowing and Ruby being Ruby.





	Handy Helpers

**Author's Note:**

> About a month or so ago, my house was being remodeled to sell. I made a post about how it gave me a need to write David and Killian as handymen, and a few folks seemed interested in the idea. So, instead of updating one of my many WIPs, I did... this. It is silly and a little smutty and full of bad puns and innuendo. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not... then go yell at @tnlph because she read the beginning part and egged me on.

Emma always thought of her apartment as quirky and charming. It had character. It’s… okay, it’s kind of a dump. But it’s  _ hers _ and she liked it the way it is and had no intention of changing it. That is, until her building all of a sudden went co-op, meaning her quirky little rent-controlled rat hole is about to be a gentrified, mortgage-requiring nightmare that she simply can’t afford on her bail bondsperson income. 

To add insult to injury, the new co-op board is making her fix the place up so they can sell it out from under her. They had the decency to offer her reimbursement for some of the renovation expenses, but damn. After the fourth general contractor laughed in her face when she told him the budget, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. 

Well, besides whiskey drinking and late-night google searching. 

It is in the throes of these activities that she finds them:  _ Handy Helpers. Two guys, three hands, everything you need for your home improvement project.  _ It doesn’t occur to her until much later that there’s a numerical irregularity in that advertisement.

Much later, as in, at 8 am the next morning when they show up at her door. 

“Emma Swan?” The man is tall and blond-ish, with a kind face and a slightly worried expression. When she only stares at him blankly, he prompts, “You, uh, submitted a request through our website for a free estimate?”

Website? Emma narrows her eyes, racking her brain and absently smoothing down her sleep-rumpled hair. Just as she’s about to tell the guy he has the wrong apartment, another voice - this one crisp and accented - chimes in from the hallway.

“I believe the exact words you put on the form were, ‘As soon as humanly possible before the co-op harpies swoop in and make me homeless.’ We don’t normally do estimates on the weekend, but far be it from us to allow a lady to be kicked out on the street. So, here we are.”

Here they are. Here  _ he _ is. Oh, just… oh crap.  _ He _ is not quite as tall as the first man and of a leaner build, but where the first man strikes her as the human manifestation of a yellow labrador, this guy is a black cat. Sinuous, wry and smirking, he’s all dark hair and smooth lines and eyes so blue they probably glow in the dark, and why is she standing here not talking and making up animal analogies in her head? 

She pulls her eyes away from his, dragging her gaze floorward as she tucks her hair behind her ears, and it is at this point that she has the realization. The end of his left arm is covered by a brace and hook-like prosthetic. Two guys, three hands. Oh crap.

Emma looks up at the blond man who had first spoken to her. “You’re the Handy Helpers.”

He smiles at her, seemingly relieved to have cleared things up and places his hands on his hips in something of a superhero pose. “That’s right, ma’am.”

“Says so right on the shirt,” the dark-haired man adds, tapping a finger just beneath the logo embroidered on the left side of his chest. 

Emma follows the movement with her eyes, and that proves to be a huge mistake as just next to that logo is a rather enticing thatch of chest hair, exposed by the fully unbuttoned placket of his polo shirt. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she can stop herself, and if the guy was smirking before, now he’s… Is there a level above smirking? Smarking. He’s  _ smarking _ at her because he’s smiling and smirking and those stupid blue eyes are sparkling and, oh geez, she must still be a little drunk from last night. What the hell is wrong with her?

The blond man throws a quick dirty look his partner’s way, then extends his hand for Emma to shake. She accepts it, feeling vaguely reassured by his confident grip. “I’m David Nolan and this is Killian Jones. May we come in?”

Emma jolts as it finally registers in her brain that, why yes, in fact, she is supposed to be doing something besides standing in her doorway ogling strangers and steps aside. She gestures awkwardly in the direction of her living room. “Yes, yes of course. Come on in. I’ll just -” and it’s at this point that another completely humiliating thought registers and she looks down at the oversized t-shirt she’d slept in that at least thankfully covers her underwear, if only barely. 

“I’ll just go and put some pants on. Sorry. Be right back.” She flees to her bedroom and slams the door.

* * *

Aside from the initial embarrassment, it’s hard to argue (and Emma prides herself on her ability to argue about damn near anything) with the Handy Helpers’ estimate. Their bid is thousands (thousands!) of dollars lower than any of the other contractors - completely within her budget, in fact - and they seem to have a realistic view of what work actually needs to be done and what was just the co-op board’s wishful thinking. She hires them, and they agree to begin work the following Wednesday.

On the appointed day, David and Killian arrive exactly two minutes early, which Emma takes as a good sign. As much as she hates to be kept waiting, she also gets irritated with people who are too early. It just seems like pointless sucking up, not to mention the fact that if they’d been about ten minutes earlier, she would have once again been caught pantless. Now, Emma Swan does not have any hang-ups about her body. She’s actually pretty comfortable naked, but at this point, it’s kind of the principle of the thing because what she  _ doesn’t _ like is to be caught off guard. Metaphorically pantless, so to speak, and she’ll be damned if it happens again. 

Speaking of attire, this time, instead of their company polos, the guys are dressed for manual labor: basic tees, heavy boots, and looser fitting jeans. There are no buttons to leave undone, and yet Killian’s chest hair seems determined to make its presence known, peeking out at her at the neck of his t-shirt. Not that she was looking. That would be creepy.

They get to work right away, leaving Emma in relative peace to sip her coffee and watch Brooklyn 99 on Hulu until a knock at her door signals the arrival of her ride to work.

“Hey, Snow. Thanks for the lift. The shop called back this morning and the Bug isn’t going to be ready until Friday afternoon. Come on in, I’ll go grab my jacket.” Emma turns and walks back toward her coat closet, hearing the shuffle of her best friend’s feet follow her into the living room. 

“It's really no trouble, Emma. I told you I…”

Emma pauses, jacket in hand and looks over her shoulder to see what made Snow trail off mid-sentence. She never considered herself much of a romantic, hell, she avoids rom-coms like the plague. Yet as she looks at David standing stock still, a paintbrush dangling precariously from his hand and his eyes locked on Snow who in turn is staring back at him as if she’s seeing a sunrise for the first time, well… Emma could almost swear she hears a swell of violins in the background. 

It’s one of those great moments - the kind you use years later in a Maid of Honor toast. So naturally, Emma ruins it with an unsuppressed snort of laughter that she tries to cover with a cough. David startles at the sound, dropping the paintbrush onto the floor with a wet squelch and Snow nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Emma clears her throat (for real this time) and pulls on her jacket as she begins the introductions. “Snow, this is David Nolan. He’s the handyman I mentioned before. David, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known as Snow.”

“Like Snow White? It’s just a silly nickname because of the black hair and fair skin.” Snow tosses her head with a girlish giggle and literally flutters her eyelashes like a Disney princess and Emma had no idea her best friend had  _ that _ in her. But it seems like David- 

“The fairest of them all? I’d say it suits you.” Yep, he’s clearly eating it up if the broad grin splitting his face is anything to go by. 

Well, this just got weird. Not bad exactly, but weird. Definitely weird.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular Prince Charming,” Emma says, unable to curb her sarcasm. Snow glares at her, muttering ‘Emma’ under her breath in that disappointed teacher voice she’s perfected over years in the classroom. 

David ducks his head, finally remembering the paintbrush he’d dropped a minute ago. “I’ll clean that up while you’re gone. Throw in a free floor polishing.” 

He bends to pick up the brush and dammit if Snow doesn’t stare at his ass the whole time. It’s a good ass. Emma can’t really blame her, but she’s going to be late for work and for some reason she really, really wants to get out of the apartment before-

“As the lady said, you’re a regular Prince Charming, Dave. Swan, I’m nearly finished in the bedroom. Do you have anything else that needs nailing?”

-that happened. 

He didn’t really say it like an innuendo, but Emma can feel her face heating up, and it has nothing (everything) to do with the mental images inspired by Killian’s particular choice of phrasing. 

Now Snow is staring at her with narrowed eyes and a calculating expression and  _ that’s _ the Snow Emma knows and loves, but really hates in moments like this. And Snow is the one who should be embarrassed right now, not her, because what kind of person just blatantly stares at the ass of some contractor she’s just met, and why does her voice inside her head sound so high pitched and squeaky?  

Emma is sick and tired of being wrong-footed by co-op boards, and handymen, and best friends who are looking between her and one such handyman with  _ way _ too much interest, so she defaults to her best scowl. “Nope. I have no interest in any nailing. Guess you better put your tool away.” 

Three pairs of eyes are staring at her now, Snow’s in near horror, David’s in surprise, but Killian? Killian’s got one thick, dark eyebrow raised, one corner of his lips tilting up, and she meant to be off-putting and prickly, but somehow he doesn’t look the least bit put off. He looks kind of… impressed? Oh crap. 

His tongue swipes across the back of his teeth as he seems to consider something, then he narrows his eyes. “How about screwing then? I’ve an incredible tool for that.” 

Did he just? Ridiculous smirking,  _ smarking _ bastard. If he thinks that fake innocent look is fooling anyone he’s-  he’s-  “No need. I’ve got my own tools actually. Motorized. Nothing gets the job done like a little extra power.” 

Emma crosses her arms, smug as can be and sure she’s won. Instead, Killian does something positively sinful with his tongue, his entire bearing radiating a challenge, and she has to tighten her arms around her torso, bracing herself for god-knows-what and then- 

“Ah, a woman with her own tools! I can respect that. I’d love to take a look at your box-”

“Jones!” David shouts, then catches himself, turning a polite, if tense, smile to Snow. “Why don’t we let these ladies get to work before we get ourselves fired?”

To his credit, Killian manages to school his features into something more or less apologetic and relaxes his stance. “Too right, mate. Have a lovely day, Swan. Miss Blanchard.” 

With a genteel nod to each woman, Killian returns to Emma’s bedroom as if nothing had happened. As if he-  As if they- But then nothing  _ did _ happen, besides him being a dick and she was only showing him she could give as good as she got and boy, was that a poor choice of words and  _ ugh.  _ Irritating, attractive asshole!

When she finishes her internal fuming she looks over to see David shaking, or more accurately  _ holding _ , Snow’s hand, both beaming like it’s Christmas morning.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard.”

“Snow. Please call me Snow.” The fingers of her free hand trace the strand of pearls around her neck and David stands taller.

“A pleasure, Snow.”

Emma’s had about all she can take. She grabs Snow’s arm and practically drags her out the front door. No sooner does said door latch shut behind the two women when they both speak simultaneously:

_ “What the hell was that about?” _

“You tell me!” Emma retorts, each heavy thud of her boots down the hallway serving to underscore her words. “What was all the giggling and hair tossing and  _ please call me Snow _ ? You went full southern belle in there,  _ bless your heart.  _ I thought you were about to fan yourself and faint.”

Snow matches her pace, the sharp clack of her heels against the wood floor acting as a jarring counterpoint. “Me? What was with you and all the dirty puns and the eye-fucking?”

Emma stops dead, nearly knocking into Snow as she whirls to face her friend. For the first time in forever, Emma Swan actually feels scandalized and maybe she’s the one who’s gone full southern belle. “You teach your students with that mouth?”

Snow rolls her eyes. “Emma, I teach middle school. Where do you think I learned that term?”

It takes a beat because it’s been a weird week and  _ holy crap Snow just said ‘eye-fucking’, _ but Emma bursts into laughter, and Snow joins right in. 

As they settle back down, Emma swipes a thumb under her eye. “Okay, so we both got a little weird around the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” 

“But above all else, we can’t tell Ruby about the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Absolutely agreed. We’d never hear the end of it.”

* * *

“You’re both hiding something.”

Well, that lasted all of two minutes. Ruby had fixed them with a gaze like a tractor beam as soon as they'd sat down in her section, her eyes narrowing in suspicion with every sauntered step across the checkerboard linoleum floor.  

It was all Emma could do not to squirm. “Hi to you, too. How’s life treating you? Looks like a busy lunch shift-”

“Don't start that with me, Emma Swan. You can't lie and Snow can't keep a secret, so let's save us all the trouble by just telling me.”

“Can we at least get our tea and hot chocolate before the interrogation begins?” Snow pleads.

Ruby purses her lips, then nods magnanimously. “I’ll give you a hot beverage reprieve, but as soon as I get back with those drinks you better spill. The gossip, not the drinks. You know what I meant.” 

As Ruby hustles through the swinging doors that lead to the diner’s kitchen, Snow rolls her eyes. “Remind me why she’s our favorite waitress again?”

Emma shrugs. “She gives us free drinks. That, and because she let you hide in her Granny’s barn when you were convinced Regina and her clique were ‘out to get you’ back in ninth grade.”

Snow’s expression shifts from annoyance to fondness. “Yeah, right. That.”

Ruby returns with the steaming drinks, placing the mugs down in front of Emma and Snow, then plunking herself down in the booth, bumping Emma with her hip to force her to make room. She dramatically places her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together under her chin, then tilts her head and smiles expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

Emma sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. I have a couple of handymen at my apartment doing some reno. No big deal.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Are they hot?”

“Ruby!” Snow exclaims, once again reverting to teacher voice, while Emma makes her standard ‘unimpressed’ face.

“They  _ are _ . I told you guys you couldn’t hide anything from me. My shift ends at 4, I’ll be over there at 5. Make popcorn.” Before Emma can object, Ruby begins muttering to herself. “I need to think of some home improvement related innuendo between now and then. Lemme see…” She taps a red manicured fingernail against her chin. “Something about pounding? Banging? Nailing! That’s a good one.”

Ruby is rising out of her seat and Emma’s almost in the clear now that Ruby’s been distracted, but she sees it in Snow’s eyes the moment before - 

“Emma already used ‘nailing’. ‘Screwing’, too.”

Emma crosses her arms, hunching over until she’s burrowed as far as she can into the cracked vinyl seat and grumbles, ‘ _ Traitor, _ ’ under her breath. At the same time, Ruby spins back to face their booth, eyes wide.

“She what?”

Snow’s got this wicked gleam in her eyes, and Emma doesn’t like it one bit. “Oh yeah, Emma was definitely having unprotected eye sex with one of the handymen while the two of them traded comments about his ‘tool’.”

Ruby presses a hand to her chest and blinks rapidly, a distinct look of pride on her face. 

Emma makes a garbled noise of disgust. “Seriously, Snow, your eighth graders are rotting your brain, but you’re one to talk. Ruby, miss innocent over here is skipping the part where she fell in pearl-clutching, eyelash-batting, gag-inducing love-at-first-sight with the other guy.”

Ruby presses her lips together and slaps the edge of the tabletop for emphasis. “This is the best day of my life. You guys are better than a primetime drama. I’ll be there at 5:30. I’m gonna need a fresh manicure for this.”

Emma makes a pained expression and catches Ruby’s wrist. “I know better than to try to stop you, but if you insist on coming over, can you at least  _ attempt  _ to be cool? Please?”

Ruby’s smile is broad to the point of being unsettling. “Would you expect anything else?” Emma releases Ruby’s wrist in defeat and sighs, not looking up when her retreating friend calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll bring the wine!”

* * *

It’s 5:47 pm. Ruby was early and Ruby is never early. There is a glass of chilled rosé in each woman’s hand and they’re pretending to be watching some movie on Netflix, but in reality, their attention is all elsewhere. Mostly about 7 feet to the left of the TV, where Killian and David are  _ on all fours _ hand-polishing a paint splatter off of Emma’s wood floor. It’s really all too much.

Emma takes a sip of her wine but nearly chokes on it when Ruby nudges her shoulder. 

“Girl, I’m going to buy you a pair of safety glasses. Even eye-fucking that man could get you pregnant. Holy shit. You need protection.”

Snow lets out an inelegant snort and Emma really does choke on her wine, but most of all  _ Ruby really needs to work on her stage whisper _ . All the blood rushes to Emma’s face because Killian has definitely paused mid-polish or whatever and is looking at her with that damned raised eyebrow. And he winks. 

Way, way too much. Emma’s hackles rise. “Does it really take both of you to clean the floor? Jones, why don’t you go work on the bathroom or something. The shower drain is clogged.”

He stands slowly, hitching his thumb at his belt buckle and takes a swaggering step toward her end of the couch. “I see. Sounds like someone needs their pipe snaked. I’d be happy to oblige.”

While Emma splutters, Ruby squeaks in delight, and David sits back on his heels and shakes his head in annoyance. “Actually, I think we’re about done for the day. Jones, how about you help pack up our gear and we’ll get out of here so Emma and her friends can enjoy their evening?”

“Oh, you’re not in the way,” Snow pipes up. “We were enjoying, um…” She trails off, her cheeks pinkening.

Ruby turns to Snow, an exaggerated expression of interest on her face. “Yes, honey, what was it that you were enjoying?”

“The show?” It comes out as a question and Snow is clearly floundering for a reason to keep David there - a fact he must be realizing because his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he’s grinning - but Emma is so glad to have the attention off of herself that she can’t quite make herself say anything to help Snow. 

“I, I mean it’s like getting to watch an HGTV show live. I just love  _ Fixer-Upper _ ,” Snow finishes lamely. 

Ruby pats her on the shoulder, but the stage-whispered, “Nice save, honey,” falls a little flat. 

Anxious to avoid death by secondhand awkwardness, Emma downs the rest of the contents of her glass and taps her finger against the side. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Anybody need anything?”

“Ooh! Me.” Ruby gulps the last of her wine and hands Emma the empty glass. 

David stands, tucking his wipe rag into his back pocket and wiping his hands on his pants, and Snow couldn’t possibly be staring harder if she tried. “I’m more of a beer man, myself, but if you’re offering?”

Emma stands there blinking, making some kind of intelligent sound like “Ummmm”, but David just laughs. 

“I’m kidding, Emma, you don’t need to fix me a drink. But,” and at this, he turns to Snow with a hopeful gleam in his eye, “I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink sometime if you’d like?”

Snow is wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open in surprise, and it’s Ruby that speaks first. “Oh, that was smooth. Say, yes!” She chucks a piece of popcorn (rosé and popcorn, god they’re classy) at Snow’s face. 

The kernel bounces off Snow’s cheek and that seems to remind her she’s supposed to say something. “I’d like that.” She beams, reaching for those pearls again, and Emma really needs more alcohol for this. 

Emma escapes to the kitchen and snatches the bottle out of the fridge. She chugs the first glass she pours herself, then pours another liberal measure, leaving only enough left in the bottle for Ruby’s refill. As she’s taking a sip from what would be her third glass of wine for the evening, she hears footsteps coming her way, and she knows it’s him even before she hears-

“Easy there, Swan. Don’t want you getting tipsy and recruiting more handymen in the middle of the night.”

“That was…” Emma sighs and sets her glass down on the counter. “A one-time thing. I don’t really make a habit of drunk dialing contractors.”

He smiles warmly and his eyes are doing that annoying twinkly thing. “More’s the pity. I wouldn’t mind a late night call from a tough lass like you.”

Emma leans back resting her elbows against her newly installed granite countertop. “And what makes you think I’m a ‘tough lass’?” she asks in a poor imitation of his accent, then raises a shoulder in a half-shrug.  “I mean, I _ am _ , but how would you know that?”

Killian leans back as well, resting his (firm, shapely - not that she’s been looking) ass against the edge of her new flat glass cooktop. He crosses his legs at the ankle and his stupid feet are so big that if Emma pointed her toes, their feet would touch. 

“You’re something of an open book,” he answers finally. “You don’t want to reveal yourself or be vulnerable, so when you get caught out, you use sarcasm and innuendo as a shield.”

Is this guy for real right now? Emma scoffs. “Hi there, Pot. I’m the Kettle. Nice to meetcha.”

Killian chuckles. “Thank you for proving my point. But you’re right, I suppose. I think the phrase is ‘Takes one to know one’.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but this time there’s a smile teasing at her lips that she can’t quite stifle. Killian reaches out with one of his big, stupid clown feet and nudges her calf to get her attention. When she looks up, he’s smiling at her and it does strange things to her insides. 

“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me one true thing, something real, and I’ll stop with the innuendo. Otherwise, I’ve got some great material in store for you.” He waggles his eyebrows and Emma can’t decide if it’s dorky or obscene. “Really kinky stuff about taping and bedding. You’ll have to step up your pun game to keep up.”

“Much as I’d love to hear  _ that _ ...” Emma exhales slowly, scrunching her mouth to the side in thought, but with the way Killian is studying her face, his eyes catch the movement and flick down to her lips. Her breath catches and her mouth goes dry and… something real, something real… She’s not ready to tell him anything real about  _ her _ yet, but maybe - “How’s this for real? I’m pretty sure my best friend has a massive crush on your partner.”

Killian laughs, his hand reaching up to tug at the slightly too long hair at the back of his neck. “Fair enough, Swan. I suppose I should have specified I meant one real thing about  _ you _ , but that’ll do for now.” He drops his hand and Emma finds herself fascinated with the way the little flips of hair he’s just rustled fall back into place and curl around his ear as he speaks again. “Tit for tat, I feel obligated to tell you that I’m quite sure my partner has a massive crush on your best friend.”

They’re talking about their  _ friends _ but still, Emma suddenly feels a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, which of course means she needs another sip of wine to drown the stupid bugs. 

“Hey! Where’s my refill? I know I heard a man’s voice in the kitchen with you. Are you guys making out in there?” Ruby’s voice can really carry like no other, and Emma huffs, both grateful for and irritated by the interruption.

“I’m coming, Ruby.”

“Oh, good! Take your time then. Go back for seconds if you want!”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I-” Emma stops herself, shaking her head as she picks her glass back up and drinks deeply. She looks back at Killian to find his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, then returns her attention to the wine bottle and Ruby’s refill. 

“She’s just trying to get a rise out of me,” she says half to herself.

“By insinuating that you’re getting a  _ rise _ out of me.”

“Not helping, Jones.”

“Sorry, Swan, that was low-hanging fruit. I couldn’t resist. But speaking of helping, David is right. We should be going. We’ll, ah, get a fresh start in the morning.”

There’s something about the way he looks at her when he says it. Something almost hopeful, and it knocks on a door she thought she’d dead bolted and padlocked years ago. 

“Fresh start, huh? Sounds good.”

* * *

Thursday morning, when the Handy Helpers arrive to resume their work, Killian proves true to his word. Not a single innuendo in sight. He even goes so far as to start her coffee pot for her when Snow arrives a full half-hour early to take her to work and Emma’s only gotten half her makeup on. A hissing gurgle heralds the end of the brew cycle and draws Emma to the kitchen where she finds Killian tightening the new hardware on her cabinet doors. 

“You didn’t have to do that you know.”

Emma catches a hint of a smile in Killian’s profile, but he simply keeps working. “I considered it a public service. Wouldn’t want to send a cranky Swan out into the world.”

She gives him an unimpressed hum in response, but as she grabs a mug from one of the cabinets he’s already finished and pours herself a cup, she feels an odd sense of relief. Almost as if some part of her was afraid she’d miss his banter if he stopped altogether. Huh.

He finishes installing one last drawer pull and asks if she’d mind him having a cup with her. 

“Help yourself, Handy Helper.”

“Droll, Swan. Very droll.”

They stand side by side leaning back against the counter and sip in silence for a few moments, but they’ve got a great view into the living room and of the two people in it. David is listening with rapt attention to Snow who is gesturing enthusiastically (and occasionally reaching out to touch David’s arm) as she tells some story they can’t quite hear.

Without thinking, Emma leans closer to Killian and raises her mug in the direction of the living room. 

“Think he’s proposed yet?”

Killian takes a sip of his coffee and moves closer as well until they’re shoulder to shoulder, the warmth from that point of contact sending tingles down Emma’s arm.

“Of course not. David’s a bit old-fashioned. He would never propose to a lass before the third date.”

Emma chuckles at that, and they spend the next few minutes imagining what David and Snow are talking about with Emma playing David’s part and Killian playing Snow’s. Emma clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting her coffee when she hears Killian’s falsetto. 

“ _ Oh, David, when you’re finished here, why don’t you come to my place? I’d love to put you to work. I have a gap that needs filling and you seem like a man who can handle his caulk…” _

Far sooner than she’d like, Emma’s cup is empty and it’s time to go. She hates being late to work, but still she catches herself lingering. With a deep breath, she pushes off the counter and sets her mug in the sink. Before she walks into the living room to hustle Snow along, she turns back.

“Will you, you know, still be here working when I get back?”

Killian nods, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “Aye, Swan. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

* * *

Without anyone ever really saying anything about it, morning coffee and making fun of David and Snow has become sort of a thing. Not like a  _ thing- _ thing. That’s crazy. Emma has known Killian barely more than a week. They can’t have a  _ thing _ . It’s more of a- a  _ habit _ . 

Just a silly habit. Like their fake flirting (yep, totally fake). Or his habit of scratching behind his ear when he’s being awkward. Or her habit of scowling at him when what she really wants to do is… but that’s neither here nor there. 

She can’t deny he’s easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes, but what difference does it make? He’s only in her life and her apartment because of a job. When the job is over, he’ll be gone. So, there is no  _ thing _ between her and Killian.

When the work is done, she probably won’t ever see him again until the inevitable wedding of David and Snow, who had their first date Friday night. And now her traitorous brain is lighting up with images of Killian in a tux, raising a glass of champagne as he delivers a best man speech and that’s just- just counterproductive is what it is. 

As she slumps into her desk on Monday, her mood is thoroughly soured.  Today was supposed to be a good day! The apartment is almost finished. Her beloved yellow Volkswagen is running again. She’s got a new stack of cases to work. 

Work! That’s what she needs to do. Go round up some scumbag and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. Because cuffing a guy will definitely _not_ make her think about Killian, especially in any sort of kinky or inappropriate way. Right. 

Eleven hours later, however, Emma is more disgruntled than ever and dammit, what the _ever-loving hell_ is that noise coming from her apartment? 

Seething with frustration, she jams her key into the lock and shoulders her door open. The noise only grows louder.

_ BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! _

Emma drops her purse on the couch and sticks her fingers in her ears to muffle the sound. Getting angrier with each step, she rounds the couch and ducks under the metal stairs leading up to her junk loft. The pounding finally stops just as she reaches her half-bath where she finds Killian Jones on the floor, pry bar in hand ripping up her old tile.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here? It’s after 8:00!”

Killian, clearly having not heard her approach, jumps several inches in the air and the pry bar falls from his hand, crashing to the tile with a deafening clank.

“Bloody hell, Swan! You could give a man heart failure.”

“And you could make a woman’s ears bleed from all that racket. What are you doing here so late?”

Of course, the answer is that he’s working. For her. She knows this, and it does a little bit to abate her anger. Emma swallows and shifts her weight between her feet as Killian sighs heavily and stands to face her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Snow came by earlier and left a key for David and me to lock up. She said you had a stakeout?”

Emma deflates at his words, her shoulders sagging. “I was supposed to, yes. My mark showed up earlier than I expected and saw me taking pictures of the front of his building from my car.  He ran and I lost him and now the bastard knows what I look like, so I have to hand the case to someone else.” She pauses, takes a deep breath and shoves her hair behind her ears. “Sorry for yelling. I guess I’m just frustrated.”

Oh and now the corners of his eyes are crinkling with his stupid grin and Emma remembers the other reason she was feeling frustrated when he says-

“You know, perhaps I could help you with that.”

Emma’s eyebrows form a little peak above her nose, and Killian takes a step closer. “Some physical exertion to blow off steam. Care to bang one out? I’d wager a good pounding would make you feel better.”

“Killian…” It was meant to sound like a warning, but Emma’s so tired it comes out more like a whine. 

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of neon orange earplugs and offers them to Emma. “Here, love. Put these in.”

She takes them and after an encouraging nod from him, places them in her ears. He gestures for her to follow him and she sits down next to him on what’s left of the tile floor. She watches in fascination as he places the chisel on the grout, maneuvering his hook to brace it in place, then using his other hand to hammer until the tile pops loose. He then drops the hammer in favor of the pry bar, positions it and pulls until the tile is removed completely. He slides the hammer and chisel over to Emma. 

“Your turn. Picture the face of your runaway criminal or whomever you find most vexing and have at it.”

Emma gives him a sidelong glance but does her best to copy what he’d just done. After a few good hits, she feels the grout and glue give way and dammit he’s right. It’s really, really cathartic. She looks up at Killian and he’s wearing an expression of pride that somehow eases even more of the tension from her. She can’t help but smile back at him.

“I pound, you pry?”

“As you wish, Swan.”

Emma scoots back away from him only long enough to remove her boots, and the two of them set to work. Between the hammer’s noise and the dampening effect of the earplugs, conversation is difficult. The silence between them is comfortable. Easy. Though it’s a small space, they never get in the other’s way. But still…

Emma finds herself hyper-aware of how close Killian is to her. Even with her eyes focused on the chisel and hammer, she feels his every shift and movement. Feels the warmth from his body. Feels his eyes on her. Her pulse kicks up a notch and all the stress she’d been feeling earlier is rapidly being replaced by a completely different kind of tension.

When the last tile is removed, Emma sits back on her heels and pulls the plugs from her ears. Instead of just handing them back like a normal person, she takes the hand holding the plugs and slaps it against Killian’s chest. The gesture was supposed to be playful, or at least that’s how it went in her head, but Killian quickly catches her hand with his, trapping it against his chest. And then they’re just sitting there, eyes locked on each other, both breathing a little fast and he’s kind of almost holding her hand while she can feel his heartbeat under her palm and it’s just... It’s- it’s- 

“How about a drink?” Emma blurts, standing up quickly. “To, you know, celebrate my first job as a handyperson.”

Killian eyes her for a second, then stands as well, his hand drifting up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye. That sounds grand.”

Emma digs a mostly empty whiskey bottle out of the back of one of her kitchen cabinets, laughing to herself a little when she realizes it’s the same bottle she’d been drinking the night she ran across the Handy Helpers’ website. She pours two fingers of liquor into each glass, adds a couple of ice cubes and meets Killian at the table where he’s taken a seat. 

He fiddles with the glass for a moment, his eyes studying her face, then he raises the glass toward her propping his elbow on the table. “To us, Swan. I don’t mean to upset you, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma gives him a quick smile and clinks her glass against his. As she sips the whiskey her thoughts are all over the place, but the burn of the liquor is helping and she finally manages to catch hold of one idea. “You know, you never did tell me why you’re here so late. Just because I wasn’t here didn’t mean you couldn’t go home.”

Killian looks down for a moment focusing on the ice cubes as they swirl in his whiskey. “I may have encouraged Dave to leave with Snow for a drink.” 

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Emma can tell he’s holding something back.

“That just tells me why you were here by yourself, not why you decided to stay late.” A thought occurs to her that saps the warmth the whiskey had been building inside her and she instinctively draws back. “Are you that ready to get this job finished so you can move on?”

She hates the defensive edge to her voice and the way Killian’s eyes have gone wide and most of all the way this turn of conversation is making her gut churn. But Killian surprises her (which shouldn’t be a surprise, she guesses, because he’s constantly surprising her) by reaching out for her hand.

“No, no, love. Not at all. In fact, if I’m being honest, I’m rather loathe to be done now that I’ve discovered such a competent new apprentice.” 

Emma rolls her eyes even as her smile returns because this is the second time he’s used that particular epithet and she maybe kind of doesn’t hate it. He gives her hand a teasing squeeze before releasing it to lean back in his chair. 

“I suppose…” and here goes that hand to the back of his neck again, “I just don’t have much to go home to. Not for a while now.”

His eyes fall to his hook. Emma follows his line of sight and it all finally clicks. Why he can read her so well. Why he understands her defenses. Why he feels like a kindred spirit. He’s known loss and loneliness just like she has.  _ It takes one to know one. _

“You lost more than just your hand, didn’t you?” It’s a statement, not a question, and Emma levels him with a stare that she hopes shows she gets it. That it’s okay.

He nods and in the slight uptick in his lips, the flash of recognition in his eyes, she knows that he knows. “Aye. But that’s a grim tale for another day. Not appropriate for what’s supposed to be a celebratory drink.”

He picks up his glass and raises it toward her again. “To lost boys and lost girls?”

Emma nods, holding his gaze, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the whiskey begins to bloom in her chest. She raises her glass. “To us.”

* * *

By noon on Wednesday, the guys are finished and gone. Emma comes home that evening to an immaculate and beautiful apartment that is barely recognizable as hers. Well, that’s only partly true. It’s not recognizable as her old one bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom, plus a storage loft apartment, but it does look strikingly similar to the two bedroom, two bath apartment she dreamed of but never thought she could have. Which, she supposes is still accurate because the place really isn’t hers. In two days, it will belong to the co-op board and she can only stay there until they find someone to buy it. 

So, as lovely as it is, it feels… empty. Or maybe she’s just projecting. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because she didn’t get the chance to tell her handymen goodbye. Because maybe, just maybe she’s going to miss them. Miss  _ him. _

On the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee pot, Emma notices a business card for the Handy Helpers. When she turns it over she finds a phone number and a short note written in perfect looping script:

_ “In case of emergency. -K” _

Just like that the butterflies are back in her stomach. She tries valiantly to squash them, tries to fortify her defenses to keep them at bay, but the little critters are tenacious. Still, she decides that the sensible thing to do is program the number into her phone. Like he said, just for emergencies.

* * *

 

It figures that she wouldn’t even get to enjoy her final days in her gorgeous remodeled apartment. Thursday afternoon, she’s assigned to an overnight stakeout. Thankfully, when Emma stops at Granny’s Diner to get takeout, Ruby agrees to help her by swinging by the apartment to turn Emma’s spare key over to the board first thing the next morning. 

Stakeouts have never really bothered Emma before. She’s always been okay with her own company, but the long hours alone sure give a person a lot of time to think. About all kinds of things. Like lost boys with understanding eyes, and a lewd sense of humor that matches right up with hers. And how hard it might be for a person to break her own radiator. And what exactly constitutes an emergency. Stuff like that. 

She arrives back at the apartment (she can’t even bring herself to call it  _ home _ anymore) Friday evening. She caught the skip, saved the day and collected her paycheck, but she doesn’t really feel like celebrating. All Emma really wants is to finish off that bottle of whiskey and take a long, hot bath. And maybe if while she’s soaking in the tub, her mind drifts to a certain handyman and her fingers decide to wander, well… who’s to know?

Much to her consternation, there’s really only about one good shot left in the bottle. With a half-hearted shrug, she drinks it down then walks over to the sink to rinse out the glass. One problem. The water is running, but it’s not draining. Maybe she just needs to run the garbage disposal?

She flips the switch and her only warning is a wailing groan like a dying cow before orange gloop shoots up out of the drain three feet into the air. The splatters are everywhere. All up the wall, all over the floor, all over her face, her sweater, her hair… Emma has the presence of mind to flip the switch back off, but now her damn sink is broken and she has to have the place ready for the co-op board tomorrow and she’s freaking the hell out.

She grabs a dish towel and wipes off her face and hands. Somehow she digs her phone out of her purse without dripping goo all over it and calls the first person she thinks of. He answers right away. 

Later, she doesn’t even remember what it was that she said to him. All she knows is that he’s here. No questions, no innuendo. He made it to her apartment before she’d even gotten the kitchen floor mopped, and now they’re working more or less side by side. He’s half under the sink while she finishes cleaning the walls and countertop. 

“Killian, you need anything? If you’re good, I’m gonna go wash this gunk out of my hair.”

“All set, love. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Emma slinks off through her bedroom to her en-suite, carefully picking up some clean clothes to change into along the way. It isn’t until she’s standing under the shower spray that she finally begins to process the evening’s events. How when something went wrong, Killian was the first person she wanted. Not Snow. Not Ruby. And how he was there for her. Without batting an eye or raising an eyebrow. Not so much as a smirk. 

She doesn’t even bother trying to tell herself that she called him because he’s her contractor. Contractors do not show up at your door to fix your sink on a Friday night.  _ Friends _ do, though. Is that what they are? Okay, yeah. She can deal with the word ‘friend’ as applied to Killian Jones. Even if it still somehow doesn’t sound exactly accurate. 

Once she’s all clean and shiny again, Emma shuts off the water and hopes to God she remembered to shut her bedroom door, because it’s just now occurring to her that she’s very naked and there is a very attractive man-friend-person in her kitchen. She can feel her face and neck flushing at the thought while she towels off and pulls on her yoga pants and a t-shirt. She wills the blushing to stop, but figures at worst (meaning if he notices it) she can blame the heat from the shower. As she’s standing in front of her mirror running a wide-tooth comb through her wet hair, Emma hears a knock on her bedroom door. Guess she did close it after all.

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Muffled footsteps signal that Killian is crossing her bedroom, but she doesn’t turn around, still attempting to unsnarl a particularly nasty tangle. One last thud of a work boot on tile and the footsteps stop. She looks up from her split ends to see his reflection behind her in the mirror. He’s leaning against the door jamb smiling softly, a hint of smugness but not his usual variety of smug. More like he’s just really, really pleased with something, but she can’t imagine why he’d be so proud of unclogging a drain. 

“What?” 

“All fixed.” He pushes off the door frame leading with his hips and takes a slow, deliberate step toward her. Emma can’t take her eyes off his reflection, mostly afraid that if she looks at her own she’ll see how flushed her face and chest still are. “You know, if you want to get close to me, you just have to ask. There’s no need to use home repair as an excuse.”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes, though her pulse has kicked up several notches. Oh, God. Deflect! Deflect!

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you?” she mutters, more to herself than him. Setting the comb in her hand down on the countertop, she meets his gaze in the mirror again. “I guess I could’ve called David, but he’s out on a date with Snow right now-”

“Right, right. You could have.” He nods and takes another step forward. “But, that wasn’t really what I meant, and I think you know it.”

He’s right behind her now, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body on her back and the next thing she knows he’s grabbing her hips and spinning her around to face him. So, of course, she goes into full defensive mode. Arms crossed, scowl on face.

“Oh you think so, do you?”

“I do. I also think that perhaps gratitude is in order now.” And with this, Killian somehow manages to turn his usual adorably awkward ear scratch into a smooth as hell move ending in a tap of his finger against his lips. His eyebrow raises inquiringly, but there’s no question at all in Emma’s mind what he’s asking for.

Are they  _ there _ ? Is this...? Are they...? Careless innuendos and shameless flirting are one thing, and yeah, they’ve gotten pretty friendly lately, but, but, but-

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.” Her voice is breathy and husky and a smile toys with the corners of her mouth, but for a second at least she feels like she has the upper hand again. 

His eyes dart between hers, piercing blue and searching. She doesn’t know what he sees, but he’s suddenly locked on target. It’s a strange turn of phrase even as she thinks it, (okay, what she actually thinks is something along the lines of  _ holy shit his eyes are pretty _ ) but there’s not a better way to describe it, and then-

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” Low, but clear. Inviting, but challenging. His words shut down Emma’s ability to make words of her own, except for the one word that keeps flashing in her brain like a giant neon sign:  _ Want, want, want, want. _

She’s staring at his eyes, his lips, and she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. Then her hands are moving, gripping his ratty black t-shirt and pulling him down into a kiss filled with hours, days, weeks (fucking  _ years _ for all she can think right now) worth of pent up sexual tension and maybe’s and what if’s finally getting an answer. And that answer is  _ yes. _ Absolutely, unequivocally and perfectly  _ yes. _

It’s messy and urgent. Their noses crush against each other’s cheeks, and Killian can’t seem to decide where to put his hand, first threading it into her still-damp hair, then clutching at her waist to pull her closer. Emma is no better. Her fingers hold so tightly to his shirt she has the fleeting fear she’s ripping out the chest hair beneath it, and she isn’t quite sure if she should use her tongue, but then Killian kind of sighs into her mouth and makes this sort of growling noise in the back of his throat and… Oh yeah. Tongue. Definitely tongue.

But for all the first-kiss frenzy, it’s  _ everything _ . Passionate and scalding hot and sweet and tender and a little desperate. This isn’t just a guy who wants her. This is a guy who actually gets her, understands her, likes her, defensive mechanisms and all. So, she takes a breath and dives back in, letting herself go and holding onto him for dear life.

When the initial hormonal burst begins to wane, Emma finds herself smiling against his mouth, damn near giggling and Emma Swan does  _ not  _ giggle. He pulls back to look at her, his own smile outshining the vanity light fixtures he’d installed last week, and shakes his head in bewilderment.

“That was…”

Emma presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, it was.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and she releases her grip on him, leaning away just enough to rest her ass on the edge of the counter, but still close enough to loop her arms loosely around his neck. They both really seem to have lost track of the whole personal space concept, and she could not possibly give less of a damn. 

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and waggles an eyebrow. “So. You wanna see my toolbox now?”

He gapes only for a split second, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he recovers. “No need.” He leans in, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Darling, you are about to discover just exactly how  _ handy _ of a man I can be.”

It’s entirely possible that the sound Emma makes when Killian’s lips descend on her neck could be classed as undignified, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much. If anything, he must find it rather encouraging because he redoubles his efforts there, the drag of his scruff against her skin heightening the sensation of his warm mouth and the occasional nip of teeth. His hand and hook find the back of her thighs, lifting as he nudges her further onto the counter and then he’s right there where she wants him, thick and hard and hot. Wrapping her legs around his waist seems like the best idea she’s ever had in her life and he apparently agrees, groaning softly as he nuzzles behind her ear.

Emma threads her fingers into his hair, carefully guiding him back to her mouth. Her whole body is singing, hips rocking against him, lips and teeth and tongue working in tandem with his, but there’s something that’s-

Something she can’t quite-

The back of her head touches the mirror as Killian leans into her and gives a throbbingly wonderful, if hesitant, experimental thrust. Oh. That. 

She halts him with a hand on his chest and his face when he leans back is a picture of confusion and worry. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but if we fuck up my new bathroom counter, the co-op board is going to kill me. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

Killian’s look of panic immediately shifts into her favorite smirk ( _ smark? _ ), and he’s clearly headed right back to her lips again as he whispers, “I was thinking more ‘on’ than ‘up’, but if you-” he stops and pulls away again, this time looking supremely affronted. “Wait a minute, are you seriously saying you don’t trust my installation job?”

“Are you seriously saying you don’t want to take this to the bedroom?”

He shrugs a little and good grief, could the man possibly have a more expressive face? Now he’s right back to lascivious again. He takes a quick but deliberate glance at the mirror behind her. “I don’t know, love, I rather like the view right here.”

Emma pats him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes, then nudges him aside so she can hop down from the countertop. She takes his hand as she walks past him and begins pulling him behind her to her bedroom. 

“Comfort over kink, babe.” She pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder with what she hopes is a coquettish expression. She can be expressive, too, dammit. “Besides, we’ve got to save something for next time.”

She turns to start walking again, but Killian tugs on her hand, making her turn back to face him.

“Next time?”

And if she wasn’t absolutely sure about this - about  _ him _ \- already, that right there. That little uptick in his voice, that little flash of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. That would’ve done it. 

She lets just one corner of her mouth curve gently upwards. “Yeah. Next time.” She gives his hand a squeeze and raises her eyebrows. “Or the time after that. Come on.” She finishes the command with a quick jerk of her head toward the bed and he’s already beaming at her, and after that, it’s less her leading him by the hand and more her just trying to keep up. 

Eager hands and searching lips seem to be everywhere at once. His t-shirt is done for. She’s not sure if it was her nails or his hook, but that rip isn’t fixable. Her bra suffers a similar fate. Her pants get stuck on one leg in her haste to get rid of the damn things, but it’s hardly her fault. Killian is already naked and all tight and lean and in her bed looking very much like he belongs there and it’s really freaking distracting.

She finally manages to extricate her foot and lays down on her side, leaning over the edge of the bed to drop her pants on the floor. In an instant, there’s a warm body wrapped around her from behind, a scruffy chin rasping her shoulder and a large hand splayed flat against her stomach. Emma really can’t be held responsible for the sound she makes when he ruts his hips forward, her ass cradling his manhood as he nips playfully at her shoulder. 

She cranes her neck to kiss him, but can’t quite reach, so she lays her head back down, opting instead to wriggle back against him and lace her fingers through his. 

Killian grunts in disapproval. “Angle’s all wrong.”

Emma cants her hips back suggestively and he groans, tightening their joined hands around her waist. “Seems like the angle is pretty good to me.”

“While I must admit it offers certain intriguing possibilities, I can’t make out with you like this.”

Emma looks up at him, frowning in confusion. “Is that a problem?”

Killian sighs, a heartbreaking openness in his gaze. “You know, I’d normally make a crack right now about how a true craftsman begins every job with a good priming, but the truth is I just really, desperately want to kiss you. Is that alright?”

Emma blinks, swallowing hard, and it takes her several moments before she trusts her own voice not to waver because she can’t remember the last time a man simply wanted to kiss her and be with her. Probably never, actually. And she just- She just-

“Yeah. That’s alright.”

He scoots backward to make room for her and she rolls over to face him. Her arm snakes around his neck, one thigh hitching over his hip, wrapping as much of her herself around him as possible. And he kisses her. God, does he kiss her. So different from the flash-bang clutching and scrambling of their first kiss, this time there’s an unhurried determination about him. It’s almost funny when she thinks about it, how she’s gone from feeling like this is her last night on earth to feeling like she - like  _ they _ have all the time in the world.

But still…

Just because they have all the time in the world, doesn’t mean she wants to spend it all on first base. Even naked first base. Because that flashing neon sign of WANT is back. His lips are just too damn soft and his arms too solid around her, and with every breath, the coarse hair on his chest teases her breasts making the WANT rapidly shift into NEED. 

He’s rock hard between her legs, his hips moving in minute thrusts and she doesn’t think he even knows he’s doing that, but it’s slowly driving her crazy. So she shifts her weight and rolls on top of him until she’s straddling him and this time it’s Emma who can’t keep still, lightly rocking in his lap as she urges him to sit up with her. 

When they’re practically eye to eye, his hooked arm holding her fast by the waist while he keeps his balance with the other, Emma realizes he’s studying her face, his eyes darting between hers searching for some sign of hesitation or uncertainty.

“Love, are you sure this is what you want?”

Killian’s dark hair is a mess. Not it’s usual devil-may-care mess, but an I’ve-been-fucked-proper mess courtesy of her wandering fingers. She rakes it back off of his forehead, trailing her hand down to cup his jaw and he leans into her palm, closing his eyes as he presses a light kiss to the inside of her wrist. And if he isn’t the damndest thing she’s ever seen, Emma doesn’t know what is. 

She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

“Oh, thank God.” 

He surges forward, the words barely out of his mouth before he captures hers in a toe-curling kiss. His arm tightens around her and he flips their positions, Emma bouncing against the mattress at the impact. She giggles (maybe Emma Swan is a giggler after all?) and thinks something very eloquent along the lines of, “ _ That was hella impressive _ .”

She’s ready. She’s so, so very ready as he lines himself up, and God, it’s been awhile, but her body seems to remember how this all works. Because as he slides in, slow and steady, there’s no awkwardness, no distracting stops and starts to take her out of the moment. Their eyes are locked, faces flushed and it’s just  _ them. _ Like this how it’s supposed to be. Like the universe is smiling indulgently at her as if she’s an idiot for not realizing this was its idea the whole time. 

His head tips forward, resting his forehead against hers, and they’re breathing the same air, and yeah. This was definitely the plan the whole time. She didn’t know. She’s not sure how she didn’t know, but at least she’s finally learning. 

She’s learning a lot right now actually. Like the way that dip just beneath his Adam’s apple tastes. Like the color his skin turns where her questing mouth has left its mark. Like the sound he makes when she drags her nails down his back. Like the way he can make her back arch off the bed when he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Turns out he’s a pretty fast learner, too. 

Speaking of fast. It’s illogical and unbelievable and she’s never been able to get off from missionary, but she feels her orgasm building and it’s gonna be the good, deep kind. The kind that makes her teeth buzz and toes go numb. She opens her eyes (because when he found that spot behind her ear with his tongue, there was no way she could manage to keep them open) to check and see if he’s as far gone as she is. There’s a sheen of sweat over both of them. He’s just as flushed as she knows she is, his face set with tension.

“Are you close, love?”

Words are not within her power right now, so she nods quickly, her breaths coming shallow and fast. 

“May I…?” He shifts his weight onto one arm and begins to reach down between them to where they are joined, but Emma stops him with a small shake of her head. Instead, she widens her thighs, wrapping one arm tighter around his waist and squeezing his ass (and it’s everything that his stupid tight jeans had promised) to encourage him to go deeper. Not exactly spurring, but it’s close enough for him to get the message.

She has no idea how he’s managing to grind against her clit and thrust at the same time, but it’s- 

Oh…

Oh,  _ fuck… _

“Oh Fuck!”

Yeah, that last one was definitely out loud, but she’s too blissed out to care. Oh, she was right. Right with the buzzing and the ringing in her ears and the tingling toes and the freaking unicorns and rainbows dancing across her vision as he thrusts a few more times and calls out a few expletives of his own. And her name. 

They’re breathing hard, both of them, and he’s smiling down at her and it’s really not fair for a guy to have eyelashes that long and black. She scrunches her nose at him and he kisses the tip of it before shifting himself off to her side. 

“You got me all sweaty.” Emma clearly displays her distaste for said sweat by snuggling herself under the crook of Killian’s arm and using his chest for a headrest. It’s a good vantage point for her to hear his low, skeptical hum in response.

“I understand you have a lovely newly remodeled shower you could use to rectify the problem.”

She lifts her head to look at him, and he’s got an eyebrow raised, but his eyes are twinkling.

“The shower head has way more settings than I’m used to. If only someone knowledgeable could, you know… give me a demonstration?” Emma tries to pull her lower lip between her teeth suggestively, but when Killian chuckles she joins right in.

“Oof, give a man a moment to collect himself, Swan. Though I suppose I’d prefer to give you a demonstration of the hardware, rather than have you resort to sabotage for my attentions.”

She was with him right up to the word ‘sabotage’. Emma sits up on the bed, her brow furrowed. “Wait, what?” Killian only grins broadly and tucks his arms behind his head. He’s still gloriously naked and it’s horribly distracting, but she won’t be deterred. “What do you mean ‘sabotage’?”

“Come now. Surely you didn’t think I’d believe the better part of a frozen lasagna  _ accidentally _ shoved itself down your garbage disposal. I’m actually quite perceptive, darling. And I must say I’m flattered.”

His voice had taken on that rich, purring quality and under other circumstances, Emma would’ve melted like Milk Duds in warm popcorn, but she’s incensed at the accusation. Mostly because she’d kind of thought about doing that. Something like that anyway. But the point is she  _ didn’t _ . 

Her jaw drops open to protest, and he’s starting to look a bit unsure of himself. Good. He should be unsure of himself because did he really think that she-

“Hang on - did you say frozen lasagna?”

“Indeed. Several helpings by the look. Jammed the gears in the disposal, then melted which is why the sink backed up-”

“And then exploded all over my kitchen.”

Killian’s sitting up now, too, looking thoroughly confused. “You mean you didn’t…?”

Emma drops her chin to her chest and huffs a laugh, before meeting his eyes again. “Nope. But I know who did.”

“We’ve been set up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian flops back down onto the bed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Emma scooches closer and nestles back into his side.

They lay there together for the space of several slow breaths, Emma absentmindedly toying with the soft hair on his stomach, while Killian gently strokes his fingers up and down her arm. It’s so peaceful that when his hand stills she thinks he may have fallen asleep.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye.” His voice is a little rough and maybe he was asleep, but something is bugging her.

“Was that the reason you made a move on me tonight? Because you thought I’d blown up my kitchen just to get to see you?”

“Oi! You kissed me first, Swan, but aye. I must admit it gave me a boost of confidence.”

“I didn’t know you were lacking in confidence, Jones.”

He chuckles softly and resumes trailing his fingers over her arm. “I’m confident in most things, true, but when it comes to whether I’ve won the heart of the woman I fancy? I suppose I have more hope than confidence.”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, searching for any hint of a lie, but he means it. She tucks her head beneath his chin to hide her smile.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a massive crush on David’s business partner.”

“Just pretty sure?”

“More like  _ very _ sure.”

“Good. Because I’m very sure I’ve a massive crush on Snow’s best friend.”

* * *

After a short nap and a thorough demonstration of her new shower hardware, Killian spends the night. Emma wakes up warm and sated, her head pillowed on his bicep. He makes a compelling argument for spending the day in bed, his lips on the back of her neck and his fingers slowly slipping down her abdomen and stroking gently when they reach their destination. 

It’s tempting. So, so tempting, especially when he dips one finger, then two inside her, curling and thrusting them in earnest now. But her stomach is growling and there’s something she really needs to do, so she very reluctantly stops him with a heated promise to pick right back up where he left off after breakfast. 

They dress hurriedly. Emma offers him one of her oversized ‘Storybrooke U’ t-shirts to replace the one she basically ripped off of him the night before. There’s a little bit of groping and a lot of kissing, but they finally make it out the door and down the street to Granny’s Diner. 

As soon as they walk through the door (hand in hand, and Emma could really get used to that), they spot a familiar couple canoodling in a corner booth. Ruby spots Emma and Killian a moment later and shoos them over to sit with Snow and David. David shakes Killian’s hand with a knowing smile. Emma hugs Snow who looks as tired and happy as Emma is fairly sure she herself does. 

Ruby pulls out her notepad and pen and beams at the four of them. “And what can I get you lovely fornicators for breakfast this morning? And don’t even bother trying to look innocent, Snow. Your eyeliner has clearly been slept in, and that-” she jabs her pen in Killian’s direction. “-is clearly Emma’s shirt. Love to hear about what happened to his, by the way. But I’m just so happy for you guys!”

Honestly, Emma’s feeling pretty good about life right now, but she didn’t come here for pancakes and girl talk. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. 

“Ruby, did you drop off my key to the co-op board yesterday morning?”

Ruby’s smile falters for a second, but it’s enough to confirm Emma’s suspicion. “Sure did. Now, do you want bacon or toast with-”

“Did you take a look around the apartment while you were there?”

“Oh, yeah. The place looks fantastic. You boys did a great job. So how do you take your-”

“And did you maybe shove half a frozen lasagna down my kitchen sink while you were there?”

Ruby exhales sharply, all pretense gone, and puts her hands on her hips. “I did and I regret nothing. My evil plan clearly worked.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall to Killian’s shoulder. “But why-”

“Because you needed a little extra push, babe,” Ruby answers kindly. She looks over to Killian who is now resting his head atop Emma’s. “Maybe he did, too.”

Killian squeezes Emma’s leg under the table. “Hard to argue with that, love.”

Snow leans in and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, she can argue with anything. Stick around a while, you’ll see.”

Emma harrumphs, but there’s no real rancor behind it. Ruby raises her pad and pen again. 

“So, pancakes, bacon and coffee all around?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and Ruby scribbles down the order. 

“She’s right about the apartment,” Snow says after Ruby disappears back into the kitchen. “I saw it Monday when it wasn’t even finished yet and it looked terrific.” She nudges David with her shoulder and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You guys really did an amazing job.”

Emma sighs. “Yeah, so amazing that it’s gonna sell immediately and I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Killian drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, the quiet show of solidarity making her feel slightly better.

Snow furrows her brow. “You know you can stay with me as long as you need.”

Emma gives her a small smile in return. “Thanks, but I think it could get a little crowded since you’ve just got the one bedroom.” She turns a sly look to David. “And a little noisy.”

Snow blushes, and David laughs, tucking Snow’s hand into the crook of his arm. “It just might,” he confirms. “You don’t think you can talk your board into coming down on the price?”

Emma shakes her head. “Nope. Definitely not, now that you and Killian converted my junk loft into an actual second bedroom.”

“What about a flatmate, love?” Killian asks. “Perhaps Snow?” He nods in her friend’s direction, but now Emma and Snow are both shaking their heads.

“I’m stuck in my lease for another nine months,” Snow replies.

“Not to mention the building doesn’t allow sub-leasing, and I’m sure as hell not about to try to buy my apartment with some stranger.”

At that moment, Ruby arrives with four mugs and a coffee pot in hand, but she stops at the end of their table, a frown at the corners of her scarlet lips. “And what am I, a day-old bagel?”

“Huh?” is the best response Emma can come up with.

“Emma, I’ve been living here with Granny rent-free for  _ years.  _ I’ve got a pretty nice nest egg saved up. What if I bought half the apartment?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Look, honey, much as I love Granny, she’s really starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. I can’t get away with anything. The old battle-ax has ears like a wolf.”

The kitchen door swings open, and Granny herself sticks her head out. “I’m a wolf? You’re the maneater, girl.”

Ruby turns and calls back, “My Granny, what a big  _ mouth _ you have!” There’s a loud hmph and a smacking sound as the kitchen door swings closed again. Ruby sets the coffee down on the table and faces Emma again. “You see my point. So what do you say to taking on a delightfully inappropriate roommate?”

Emma blinks a few times, still trying to come to grips with this new information. Is it really possible? Can she actually be lucky enough to get to keep her apartment? She can feel everybody at the table looking at her expectantly and it finally occurs to her that she’s not speaking. She shakes herself and looks wide-eyed up at Ruby.

“Yes. Ohmigod. Yes! Ruby, thank you so much.”

Ruby grins brightly. “My shift ends at two. I’ll meet you at the building to do the paperwork after that. We don’t want those co-op bitches selling the place out from under us.” She takes a pointed glance at Killian then waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And it looks like you’ve got some business to attend to while you still have the place to yourself. I’ll just go pack your breakfast to go.”

Before Emma can say anything else, Ruby turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen. The next thing Emma knows, Snow is congratulating her and Killian is brushing a kiss to her hair and David is grinning at her and she's just- she’s just…Happy. And it kind of surprises her to realize it, but she thinks maybe she can get used to it.

Ruby returns with a take-out bag a few minutes later, and Emma and Killian stand to leave. Killian reaches to take the bag, but Ruby pulls it back, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re gonna take good care of our girl, right? Because I'll be right there to know if you don’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian nods solemnly. “I promise I will.” And Emma’s heart melts just that little bit more. 

Ruby releases the bag to him with a toothy grin. “Good. And don’t worry, I’ll give you a good deal when you want to buy out my share of the apartment later.”

David and Snow laugh, Emma splutters, and Killian’s ears turn pink and she knows he’d be scratching behind his ear if he wasn’t holding the food. Before either of them can say anything, Ruby is waving them away.

“Now don’t even try to argue with me. You two just go on home and have… _pancakes_.”

With a little wave of her fingers, Ruby was off to the kitchen. Emma glanced back at the table to find Snow and David completely engrossed with each other once more. As much as her head was reeling from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, looking up into Killian’s smiling (and maybe a little bit  _ smarking _ ) eyes, she finally feels that yes, this is it. She’s finally getting it right.

She wraps her fingers around Killian’s hook, taking note of the little hitch in his breath when she does, and smiles up at him. 

“Yeah. Pancakes sound good.”


End file.
